


Paint the Sky

by icandrawamoth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sunsets, Wakes & Funerals, vague offscreen character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the day of Grantaire's death, Les Amis gather around Enjolras. Jehan has some words of comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint the Sky

It's almost like a party - all of them gathered in Enjolras and Grantaire's house, dishes of food spread over every surface, people gathered in little clumps talking. Well, all but for the stoic atmosphere, that fact that all those conversations are whispered, that there's no laughter, and hardly anyone eats.

And that Grantaire isn't here. It's just one thing that's so very wrong. Grantaire always loved parties; he would be the first one to start taking requests for music, mixing drinks, telling the loudest stories and getting the most laughs. He wouldn't appreciate this sort of "party," even if it is being held in his honor. 

Enjolras manages to slip away when no one is looking at him - a rare thing through the last few hours; they're all worried about him, and he doesn't blame them - through the kitchen and onto the back steps. He just lets himself breathe, focusing his attention on the crickets chirping, the rising coolness in the evening air. He lets his mind clear. He tries to keep back the tears; he's cried so much today, and he knows it's only the start. 

He winces all over when the door opens behind him, not turning around. He's already bracing himself for another barrage of apologies, of empty comfort, of asking what can be done to help him when there's clearly nothing. 

Instead there's silence but for shoes scraping across the concrete and shifting clothing as the person sits beside him. He looks out of the corner of his eye: Jehan. 

The other boy doesn't say anything at first, just following Enjolras's gaze into the nothingness and toying with the end of his red braid. It's nice in a way, to not be alone but not have to talk either. 

"It's a beautiful sunset," Jehan says after awhile. His voice is gentle, filling the silence but not requiring anything from Enjolras. "I heard a story once that when an artist dies, God lets them paint the sky that night to say goodbye."

Almost against his will, Enjolras looks upward. The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, a riot of colors bursting out from it like an explosion, deep reds and brilliant purples and warm oranges spread across a smattering of wispy clouds. A one-in-a-million picture. Grantaire would have loved it. Enjolras feels tears in his eyes again, finds he's nowhere near the end of them after all. 

"That's just a superstition," he says roughly. 

"Even so," Jehan says, unruffled. "It's a sort of reminder. Just because he's gone doesn't mean there aren't still beautiful things in the world." He squeezes Enjolras's hand, a wet little laugh burbling out of him. "And you know if it were at all a possibility, Grantaire would weasel himself into being able to do it."

"He would." Enjolras is opening crying again now. Even if he knows it's a fantasy, the thought of Grantaire drawing his brushes across the sky and leaving all that beauty for Enjolras and the rest of his friends is somehow comforting. "Thank you," he manages. 

Jehan just squeezes his hand again, by his side in silent companionship.


End file.
